


Lifeline

by cyanideanddiamonds



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: Frerard, M/M, MCR, My Chem, my chemical romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideanddiamonds/pseuds/cyanideanddiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A depressed Gerard Way who also has anxiety and a touch of OCD has an extremely hard time at school, when new kid, Frank, comes in from a different school in the area. Did Gerard find his lifeline?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mornings

GERARD’S POV

 

My routine every morning seems to be exactly the same since I started high school last month at Belleville High. Wake up. Coffee. Walk to school. Go to class. Carry a coffee with me. Try not to sleep. More coffee. Go home. Coffee. Homework. Coffee. Listen to music. Coffee. Write music while drinking coffee. Sleep. Start the cycle over again.

 

It was October 3rd, and the dead grass in my front yard was covered in red, orange, yellow and bronze leaves. I went downstairs to get my early morning coffee and peeked at the digital clock on the stove. 5:31. Good morning, Gerard.

 

I poured the brown energy into my favorite mug. It was a simple, pure, white mug with The Smiths printed on it in a faded orange color. I loved the smiths. I found their music calming when I would undergo one of my panic attacks or when my depression decided to get the best of me.

 

I let out a groggy, morning yawn before taking a sip of the hot caffeine and swallowing it. The heat flowing down my throat filled my body with the kind of serenity that you get in the bathtub. That relaxing, warm, cozy feeling that makes tensions flow away. Dissipate from existence.

 

I took the final sip of the coffee, leaving my best mug empty.

 

Am I awake yet, I thought. I yawned. Nope. I turned my head to catch a glimpse at the clock on the stove once again. 5:48.

 

Ugh. It’s monday, I remembered. School starts at 7:00. I had enough time to get ready, take a peek at a comic, and get another coffee.

 

I padded back up the stairs and back to the room from which I came from. I left the light off, seeing as the small lamp that sat on my desk in the corner of my room was dimly lit.

 

Time to get ready to go to my own, personal hell.

 

I rummaged through my closet. An array of dark colors and tee shirts. No luck. It was school. I could wear sweat pants, or something other than what I had in my closet.

 

I turned to my dresser and pulled out the drawer that held my sweatpants and pajama pants. I pulled out a pair of plain, black sweats, and then thought better of it.

 

Skinny jeans it is. Skinny jeans it always is. Skinny jeans it always will be.

 

I wandered back to my closet and pulled out a pair of dark, blue skinny jeans and struggled into them. When I finally managed to get the comfortable constrictors onto my body, I realized that I still needed to pick out a shirt. I decided to go with my usual style. I picked a band tee off of a hanger and pulled it over my head.

 

I guess that’s about as good as it’s going to get.

 

I heard an ear piercing beeping coming from the other side of the wall of my closet. Followed by an irritated groan and the creaking of a bed.

 

Fucking Mikey.

 

The beeping stopped and I caught the faint sound of shuffling footsteps.

 

Is is 6:00 already?

 

There was the sound of a door opening.

 

I guess it is.

 

I’ve always hated mornings, but at the same time, I found it relaxing to be alone in that kind of darkness and quietness. Calming. Pleasant, yet annoying, because I’m always exhausted. I always need energy. I barely sleep. I spend most of the night drawing, listening to music, or even writing music. On average, I usually go to bed at around midnight and wake up at about 5:00 in the morning. Not. Enough. Sleep.

 

I overhear the flush of a toilet and the sound of the bathroom faucet being used. 6:07.

 

I really didn’t want to go to school. School is like hell. Wait. It’s way worse. It’s the hell you go to after you go to hell. It’s the place where I fit in even less than at home. It’s where those morons always make fun of me and call me names. It’s where everyone gives me a hard time. It’s where I don’t matter. It’s where nobody cares. It’s where I’m alone. I have nobody.

 

I’ve learned to tolerate it, though. I’ve become accustomed to the silence that is my own presence. The loneliness of the lunch table. The isolation of the bus rides. The pain that everyone causes me. It’s all part of the routine. I’m used to it.

 

I plopped down on my bed and thumbed over my latest batman comic. The one I fell asleep next to because I forgot I was going to read it. I just kind of passed out last night after listening to Smashing Pumpkins.

 

I cast my gaze to the digital clock I had on my bedside table. 6:26.

 

I should probably get going. Wouldn’t want to be late for another day in that prison.

 

I clambered out of bed and staggered out of my room and down the stairs, only to find my little brother, Mikey, sitting in the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Pokerfacing. As usual.

 

“Morning, Mikes,” I greeted with a dazed look in my eye.

 

“Hey, Gee.”

 

“You’re lucky your school starts at 7:45.”

 

“Yeah,” he yawned. “But next year, when you’re a sophomore, I’ll be a freshman and we’ll both be stuck waking up super early and leaving around this time to take our death walk.”

 

“Yeah. Enjoy it while you can, kid,” I sighed, grabbing my coffee and walking out the door. I took what my brother liked to call “The Death Walk” to school.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

I got to school early, as usual. I always try to get to school early to avoid all those other idiots that find joy in picking on me. I hated them. Today, though, seemed different. I felt… I felt as if I was being watched, or followed.

 

Just keep walking and maybe they’ll go away.

 

I picked up my pace, hurrying down the vacant hallways lined with white lockers and tall windows, showing us the crisp autumn that fell over the grounds.

 

They’re still there!

 

I was now walking at a bit of a run. I had to get rid of them. I heard footsteps behind me. Heavy ones. Thump. Thump.

 

Shit, they’re getting closer.

 

I passed my locker, refusing to stop, and came to the end of the hallway. There were two sets of stairs. One leading up and the other leading down.

 

Where do I go?

 

I decided to run down the stairs because it took much less effort and, that way, whoever was behind me wouldn’t be able to throw me down a flight of stairs and possibly injure me worse than necessary.

 

The steps became quicker and louder and closer.

 

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath as I stumbled down the stairs and took a quick look over my shoulder.

 

Behind me, jogged none other than Lucas Gray.

 

“Fuck,” I muttered again. Lucas always liked to pick on me. To make me feel pain. Why would he be here this early in the morning?

 

“Stop running, faggot. You know you’re not getting away from me. You never do,” he shouted after me.

 

I stopped running and turned around.

 

“You’re right,” I sighed, tactfully, putting my arms up in surrender. “I can’t get away. I give up.”

 

He took a step closer to me, cornering me. I had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

 

“Where you gonna go now, faggot,” he growled.

 

“Nowhere,” I said meekly, losing the bravery I had mere seconds ago.

 

Lucas came closer to me, grabbing the collar of my shirt and lifting me up from the ground. He touched his forehead to mine and I could swear I felt a vein. He looked so menacing in the dimly lit hallways and early morning light.

 

“Good. You’re learning,” he spat.

 

I gasped as he threw me to the ground and towered over me.

 

“Now,” he leaned his muscular torso over my face and flexed his muscles. “Freak… You are going to give me your money.” His voice was rough and tough as nails, making me grimace at every word.

 

“I don’t ha-”

 

“Don’t you lie to me, you emo freak. I know you have money.”

 

“I don’t have any,” I whimpered.

 

“Yes. You do. Give it to me. Now.”

 

“I don’t have money,” I lied, raising my voice. Of course I had money. How else would I buy all of my coffee?

 

“You have money, and you are going to give it to me.”

 

“No.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“Because,” I sputtered.

 

“Because, why,” Lucas snarled.

 

“Because I need it.”

 

“I need it too.”

 

He pressed the sole of his shoe to my chest and kicked my torso so that I laid, back flat, on the dirty floor.

 

“Now, hand it over.”

 

“No.”

 

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he threatened.

 

Shit.

 

“I’m not...I just wanna,” I was cut off by the “Ahem” of another.

 

“Lucas Gray, what on earth are you doing,” the voice said in extreme articulation. I turned my head to see who the voice belonged to. It was Mr. Quinn, our art teacher.

 

“Mr. Quinn,” Lucas gasped in astonishment.

 

Hey, he actually got caught for once.

 

“Mr. Gray. My room. Now.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Lucas sighed, the shock still lingering in his voice, which was now showing a hint of fear, just like his face did when he saw Mr. Quinn.

 

They began to walk away when Mr. Quinn turned around to look at me.

 

“Gerard, are you alright?”

 

“I’m okay,” I assured, letting out a deep breath as he walked away. It was then that I realized that I had been hyperventilating. My chest was expanding and contracting at a quick pace.

 

Panic attack. Fuck.

 

I did what I always do when I have a panic attack, get a drink of water.

 

I hurried to the bathroom, which was completely empty. No other human beings in sight. I was completely alone.

 

I approached the sink and mirror wearily before turning the knob that activated the faucet.

 

The water was cool and refreshing on my face. After splashing my face with the clear liquid, I cupped my hands under the running water and caught some in my hands, taking a slow and restoring sip.

 

My breath steadied with every small sip of water. Soon, the water was gone, and I heard a few muffled voices in the hallway.

 

Great. Satan’s spawn are arriving.

 

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and cautiously opened the door that divided the mens room from the hallway.

 

I guess I have to go to class now.

 

 

[A/N:

Hai, Dirty Pancakes! It's meeee, Dani!!! Okay, so I'm starting this new story because I just didn't have any good or yummy ideas for my other one (I'll Let You Know Just How Much You Mean To Me) but I am still going to do short updates until I can bring that story to a close.

lel. K. Bye.

 

-Dani]


	2. A Typical School Day With Gerard Way

I passively shuffled down the crowded hallways lined with white lockers and wandered to that of my own, clutching my things close to my chest and holding a tight grip on my coffee. I heard the warning bell ring, which aggravated me quite a bit.

 

Fucking bell. Shut the fuck up. I know I’m going to be late. Thanks to Lucas fucking Gray.

 

I set my coffee down on the unswept floor as I did my locker combination.

 

0…15...30

 

I yanked my locker open and did my quick, everyday check to make sure that everything was in its correct place.

 

Check. Check. Check.

 

Everything seemed to be alright. I unloaded some books from my backpack into their places in my locker and put some other things into my bag before I checked to make sure everything was in its proper position again. I slammed my locker shut and locked the lock before picking up my coffee and rushing to my first period class. Science.

 

My footsteps ochoed through the desolate hallways. I thought over the numbers over the doors to the various classrooms they belonged to.

 

101… french...102...spanish...103...italian...104...german.

 

I went up the stairs that lead me out of the foreign language hallway and into another hallway that had a wide array of wooden doors.

 

200...art...201...photography...202...computer education...203...the computer lab that was open to all students...204… the library, and the biggest room on this floor.

 

I climbed up another set of stairs to the third floor, and opening the first door on my right.

 

Room 301… Science with Mr. Fisher.

 

Mr. Fisher was one of the most unpleasant teachers in this hell of a school. It’s not that his class was boring. I actually liked the material we learned and how we learned it. It’s just that Mr. Fisher wasn’t very nice. He liked to bully his students.He liked to call them names and criticize them in front of the whole class. How embarrassing.

 

He liked to pick on me most out of the whole first period class. He called me any despicable name from moron to idiot and everything in between. He loved to make me look bad in front of the class. He pointed out my every flaw and mistake. I hate him.

 

The worst part is that he always sided with the popular kids. I had very few friends, whom I barely saw throughout the school day, so Mr. Fisher saw me as an undesirable, which I guess I was. Anyway. He would always make me feel bad and make the popular kids feel good. Maybe that’s why all the popular kids always liked him.

 

I creeped into the room quietly, in an attempt to go unnoticed. My attempt failed. Just as I walked in, Mr. Fisher’s head snapped to send me his death stare that sent chills down my spine. I knew exactly what was going to happen. I knew his intentions. He was going to put me down. And I wasn’t ready.

 

“Mr. Way,” he acknowledged my presence. “You’re late.”

 

“I’m sorry,” I muttered quietly.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he said sarcastically. “Why don’t you stop mumbling like a dimwit and take your seat.” He gestured his hand to my seat in the back of the class.

 

I dragged my feet as I walked to my seat, plopping down my backpack next to the chair and sinking into the seat. The light above me flickered slightly, giving me a headache. I wish it would just stop. It was making me irritable.

 

I pulled out my science textbook and the composition notebook that I had labeled “Science” in thick, black marker, and peered at the notes that belonged to the person next to me, Ray. He was really friendly and peppy if you got to know him, but if you were an outsider, you’d just think he was like the rest of our small, unimportant clan. We were the ones who didn’t fit in. We were the ones who had different opinions. We were the ones who took a lot of shit. We were the ones who nobody understood.

 

Ray and I have been friends since seventh grade, when our music teacher sat us down next to eachother. We talked quite frequently from that point on. One day, I offered Ray the empty seat next to me at lunch, and he took the offer. Since then, Dallon and Brendon had joined our group. Occasionally, they sat in separate seats from us at lunch, but they often sat with us.

 

I copied Ray’s notes until I was all caught up on the lesson so far. We were learning about calculating the speed of the object.

 

Distance over time…

 

And to find the distance you subtract the initial position from the final position.

 

I’ve always been pretty good at this science shit. I mean… it’s really not that hard.

 

“Mr. Way,” I heard Mr Fisher shout in my direction. I looked up from my notebook. “Can you tell me where the most logical reference point in this example is?”

 

“Uhm,” I sighed. “The front tip of the figure makes sense.”

 

“Provide your explanation. You’d think you’d know by now, genious.”

 

“Well,” I said as I examined the figure. “The front tip lands right on the ten meter mark. It’d just make the calculating a lot easier,” I explained.

 

“Hey,” he said sarcastically with a smirk. “The pinhead used his brain.”

 

I shook it off and rolled my eyes.

 

I know I’m smart. You, my friend, can shut your big, authoritative mouth, even though that wouldn’t help you at all, because you’re always talking out of your ass.

 

The rest of the class seemed to drag on slower than ever. We listened to Mr. Fisher blab on and on about motion and speed and different formulas. When the bell shrieked through the building like a banshee, the halls filled with students as they meandered to their classes. I began to make my way to my second period class. Math with Mrs. West.

 

302… another science class...303… yet another science class...304...an english class… 305… another english class...306… another english class...307… my math class.

 

I entered the room and sat through a grueling period of numbers and equations. I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, and by the time the class period was over, I had already drank every last drop of my coffee.

 

I need more. I need more coffee. I need it now.

 

I was going to pass by the lunchroom anyway, so when I reached the mostly empty lunchroom I scurried inside, immediately rushing to the run-down coffee machine. That coffee machine had been my savior for most of this year. I had been constantly making stops there to refill my cup in between class periods. If you ever saw me, I always had a coffee in my hand. If you knew me, you’d know that I always need to get coffee from the nearest machine whenever I run out. I always need coffee. Always.

 

I refilled my cup, steam rising from the liquid before I snapped the lid back onto it and took a quick sip. I had very little time to get to my next class by then. Art with Mr. Quinn in room 200.


	3. Art Class

Art has always been my strong point. I loved drawing and sketching and painting anything from people to trees to creating my own comic book characters. Most of my school supplies and schoolwork was covered in doodles that I had done in class.

 

Mr. Quinn’s class was one of my favorites. Don’t get me wrong. I hate school. I just like art.

 

I sat in my usual seat near the windows on the far side of the classroom, next to my friend, Dallon, who greeted me with his usual friendly nod.

 

I nodded back.

 

Dallon was the most outgoing out of our small clan. He was the one who always hosted the parties and who always took risks. Hanging out with Dallon was always a blast. You never knew what was going to happen. You never knew if you were going to live to see the next day. Sometimes, we would even laugh so hard we thought we would run out of oxygen and die.

 

“Now, class,” Mr. Quinn greeted us after the strain of the bell that marked the beginning of the class period. I set my coffee down as he continued to speak. “Today, I’d like each of you to make your own interpretation of our school. Express what this school truly is. Tell us a story, or a secret. Make your artwork express a message. You may use any medium you would like,” He instructed as he gestured to the table at the front of the room that had various art supplies laid out on it.

 

I reached into my backpack and pulled out my sketchbook and some pencils.

 

Time to draw this hellhole the way I actually see it.

 

I made the first pencil mark. A vanishing point. In the center of the top of the paper. From there I drew two straight lines to form a triangular looking shape.

 

What next. Demons. Demons are next.

 

I moved my pencil outside of the triangular shape and let it linger in the air over the page before pulling it away.

 

They should be coming out of the doors and the lockers.

 

I drew a rhombus shape that would look like a door. I did some shading to make it look a bit more realistic. I drew a frame around it to show that the door was cracked open a bit and to reveal the demons that were lurking inside.

 

I drew a circle for the head.

 

No. They shouldn’t be circular. They should all be angular. And they should all be the same.

 

I erased the circle and drew a seed shape for the head, and nodded in satisfaction.

 

“So, Gee,” Dallon said. I snapped my attention up from my sketch and turned to look at him. He continued. “I’m thinking about having a small party on friday. Wanna come?”

 

Small party, my ass. To you, small party means we don’t wake up in the street.

 

“Sure,” I smiled.

 

Dallon nodded and returned to his work, as did I.

 

Now, what am I going to do for their bodies.

 

I began to sketch a distorted body that looked to be watching the viewer. I shaded it black like a shadow and let the wide eyes stay white, as to never stop watching you. Judging you.

 

I drew more and more of those bodies in the hallway before shading in the gray, slate tiles that were stepped on throughout the day by every student of the school. I drew a single light that cast a circular glow on the ground and casting shadows all around it. I then added more details. I made the paint on the walls peel in various places and all the posters on the walls advertising school activities were all torn, distorted and drawn on.

 

“One more thing,” Mr Quinn added about three fourths of the way through the class. “Explain the message you are portraying through your work. I’d like a short essay. Anywhere between one and three paragraphs.”

 

I nodded before taking a long sip from my coffee.

 

Ugh. I have to write.

 

I don’t have a problem with writing. I never have. I just wasn’t in the writing mood. I’d rather just draw, but I had to do it anyway.

 

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a notebook and opened it to a fresh page, tearing it our sloppily.

 

What to write… What to write.

 

But then… it came to me. I knew exactly what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it.

 

“I sketched an eerie hallway, because in my eyes, this school isn’t a very good place. It is dark, but has a single light casting shadows throughout the hall. In my drawing, I drew demons lining the walls and in the doorways. The demons are really the students without their skins. It’s what lies underneath. Everyone has a dark side. Their eyes are a glowing white and are focused directly on the viewer of the piece, because the way I drew this, the viewer is seeing what I always see. Their eyes always watching you. Always judging you.”

 

I scrawled my paragraph messily on the page and yawned.

 

I need more coffee.

 

I reached for my cup and took yet another, long sip. The hot drink trickled down my throat, making me warm inside.

 

“So,” Dallon said, peering at my page. “What did you draw?”

 

“It’s uh… It’s complicated,” I sighed, picking up my sketch and showing it to him. “What did you do?”

 

He held up his drawing for me to see. It was a messy sketch of a classroom filled with students. It was dark, mostly. The un shaded, blank people were all turned to look at one dark shadow. One, lone wolf. The blank man standing at the front of the room looked to be writing a word on the board, but it was incomplete. It said “ALON,” but was obviously going to say “ALONE.”

 

The bell rang signaling the end of class. On our way out of the room, Mr. Quinn collected our work from today’s class and glanced at each of our pieces as he took them in hand.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

After art was over, I went through the rest of the day quietly. I didn’t speak one word at all.

 

Nothing.

 

My day was the same as usual.

 

Social studies after art. Then I had English and math. It was then time for lunch. That day, I sat with Ray. Dallon and Brendon sat elsewhere. It was fine, I guess. Ray and I spent the entire period people watching quietly and occasionally commenting on random things like what happened in class and what was going on after school.

 

After lunch I had PE and Music, then it was time to go home. I just needed more coffee and some peace and quiet. Thank god it was the end of the day and I was finally able to leave that hell hole they dare call a school.

 

I exited the school with Ray by my side.

 

The sky was cluttered with dark clouds and was tinted gray. I felt a drop of rain hit my face as I entered the outside world, so I decided to put the hood of my sweatshirt up.

 

I always carried around a Black Flag sweatshirt in my backpack for the days that it rained, which was quite often. Here, in Belleville, rain was abundant. It rained about twice a week at least. Well… not in winter, though. Winters were always frigid. Icy. Cold.

I descended the steps from the school and set foot on the pavement that laid ahead of me. The black pavement of the street had tiny drops of water scattered across it, and more were falling down on it.

 

Fucking rain.

 

Ray and I walked the route we walked every day home from school.

 

Boom!

 

Thunder’s a bitch.

 

The sky lit up through the array of clouds.

 

“Great,” I mumbled.

 

“Looks like there’s going to be another thunderstorm,” Ray sighed. “How unusual.” He rolled his eyes sarcastically.

 

I blew a quick breath out of my nose in place of a laugh and looked down at my feet, which were getting wetter by the second.

 

I mean… Don’t get me wrong. I love rain and I love thunderstorms. I just don’t always like walking in them. I’d rather watch them from the safety of my bedroom. Sometimes I even liked to sketch the storms that often occurred outside my window.

 

Ray turned the corner to go down his street.

 

“See you tomorrow, Gee,” He said as he walked away.

 

“See ya, Ray.”

 

Okay, time to think.

 

I loved taking time when I was alone just to think the deep thoughts I’d always loved to think.

 

If the sun is going to explode billions of years from now, why does it seem like nobody’s worried? Life will end. Earth will be gone. So will humanity.

 

I guess that could be a good thing, though.

 

Humans are stupid.

 

I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

 

And really… life just seems pointless… I mean we spend our whole life preparing for the next step, and most of the time we don’t ever get the chance to stop and just enjoy it, because we’re too busy preparing for the next step.

 

When you’re in grade school you’re preparing for middle school.

 

When you’re in middle school you’re preparing for high school.

 

When you’re in high school you’re preparing for college.

 

When you’re in college you’re preparing to get a job.

 

When you’re working you’re preparing for retirement.

 

When you’re retired you’re fulfilling your bucket list and preparing to die.

 

I turned onto my street.

 

And what if reincarnation is real?

 

I must have been something really shitty to be reborn into this hell of a life. Maybe I was a businessman. A republican one. I probably wanted all the money for myself and everyone hated me, so when I died I was reborn into this shitty life. Yes. That’s what happened.

 

I turned into my rain covered driveway and unlocked my front door. Once I stepped inside I was engulfed in the warm, clean air that belonged to my home.

 

My mom was never home when I came home from school. She usually worked until around dinner time. So 6:30 I guess.

 

Anyway.

 

I went straight to my room and plopped my backpack down and shed my sweatshirt onto its proper hook. If I didn’t put it where it belonged, I would go all OCD crazy.

 

I left my room and scurried back to the kitchen, cup in hand and backpack on bvack, to refuel.

 

I need more coffee.

 

More.

 

More.

 

More.

 

I made myself a fresh cup of coffee and was satisfied for the time being.

 

Homework time.

 

I never liked homework. I don't think anybody does. It's just a bunch of unnecessary review. I don't need that, but if I want to have an actual future I kind of have to do it.

 

I plopped myself down at the kitchen table and glanced at the clock over the stove. The digital green numbers read 2:30. Mikey should be home around 2:50 because the middle school day ends at 2:45.

 

I pulled out my math homework from my neatly organized backpack and began working.

 

Slope intercept form...

 

If y=2x+8 then the x intercept is eight and the slope is two over one and that makes the y intercept... 16.

 

And the ordered pairs are... (0,8) (16,0)

 

I began to draw a graph for the equation. I started with graphing the intercepts and followed up with drawing a straight line through them with an arrow on either side.

 

I looked at my work, pleased and moved on to the next equation. Math, for the most part, came easily to me. Especially geometry and anything with graphing and lines. It's almost like second nature to me.

 

I finally finished my math homework and slipped in propperly back into its place in my folder. My eyes met the clock again. 2:40. Mikey should be home soon.

 

Mikey was always more social than me. It's a well known fact. Mikey had friends and always hung out with them. I had mere aquaitences and a friend. Compared to my baby brothet, I looked pathetic.

 

Anyway.

 

Mikey always brought home one of his friends, usually Bob or Pete. They were both pretty nice to me. That is, when I actually decided to socialize with them. I usually stayed up in my room listening to music.

 

Pete and Bob were pretty cool, actually. They had great taste in music and were pretty accepting. They respect my space and don't try to talk to me when I look like I'm in a bad mood. I wish I had friends like that.

 

The only true friend who ever comes over and respects my everything is Ray. He's pretty friendly and funny and brilliant on the guitar. He has a lot of the same views as I do.

 

I've known him since we were in third grade. Our hellspawn of a teacher, Miss Brosen, decided to sit us next to each other in the back of the class the day I wore my cousin's hand-me-down Green Day shirt. I've always loved Green Day. This was just a hand-me-down because I never really thought to get a shirt.

 

Anyhow.

 

Ray came over to me that day and we started talking up a storm all because of the great band whose logo was printed on my shirt.

 

Thank heavens for hand-me-downs.

 

I looked at my backpack.

 

Great. Now I have to lug this this upstairs.

 

Jesus fuck.

 

I sighed as I picked up my backpack and stepped up the stairs, careful to lean forward as to not fall back. Imagine my brother coming home to me sprawled out on the floor in front of the stairs. Terrifying.

 

The hallway was dark, as usual. My room was at the far end of the narrow space. Mikey's door was on the wall 90 degrees away from mine. My parents slept in the large room on thd other end of the hallway.

 

Usually, it was just me, Mikey, and my mom, but when my dad was home from work or business trips, he was there too. This was a rarity. Ever since he got his new job three years ago at the manufacturing plant where they built parts of machines to sell to different companies around the world, he's been out of the house more often than not.

 

The house was empty.

 

When was it not?

 

I went to my room at the end of the hall and placed my hand on the cool, metal knob. The door creaked open with a single gentle push.

 

I shuffled into the room, making sure to close the door behind me. My room was mostly dark except for the single light on my desk. I never turned that lamp on my desk off. That is, unless I'm sleeping. I just never really felt the need to do it. I deemed it unnecessary.

 

I set my backpack sloppily on the floor and plopped myself down next to it.

 

More homework.

 

Fun.

_______________________________________________________________________________


	4. Thunderstorms and Damage

The front door shut with a thud and was followed by voices and laughter. I could recognize the voice as Pete and the laughter as Mikey's and Bob's. The sound of their voices was drowning out the soft pitter-patter of the rain outside.

 

Great. All three of them are here.

 

Again. I have no problem with any of them, it's just that I like silence. And silence likes me. What can I say? It's natural.

 

Their footsteps boomed up the stairs, nearly matching the volume of the thunder.

 

Tap tap tap.

 

A knock on my door.

 

Go away. I'm enjoying the rain.

 

"Gee, wanna run out to the coffee shop with us," Mikey said in an inviting tone.

 

Let's see.

 

I like coffee. I like rain.

 

I also like watching the rain from the safety of my home. I have coffee here.

 

But they have better coffee.

 

Coffee.

 

Mmm.

 

After taking a brief moment to weigh out my options I decided to agree to go with them.

 

"I'll be out in a minute," I called out to them. As I stood up to get my sweatshirt from the hook I had put it on when I got home there was a crash of thunder and the bright flicker of lightning. Next think I knew, the lamp on my desk went out and all the clocks in my room began to blink in confusion.

 

Shit.

 

I heard a girlish shriek from downstairs and hurried to investigate. Hoping nobody was hurt, I flew down the stairs and rushed to the kitchen.

 

There, I saw Mikey and Pete being squeezed tightly by Bob, who had his eyes tightly shut and looked to be shivering in fear. Mikey looked as if he were trying to laugh, but Bob was squeezing all the air out of him. Pete was squirming and thrashing around violently trying to free himself from Bob's tight grip.

 

"Uh... Is everyone okay," I asked, holding back a girlish giggle.

 

"Bobbert, you little shit," Mikey shouted, laughing as he pushed Bob away. Pete was gasping for air.

 

"The fuck just happened?"

 

"This fucktard," Mikey began to explain, gesturing to Bob. "Decided to flip shit when the lights went out."

 

"Bobness," Pete gasped. "You idiot."

 

The storm began to lighten up and the rain gradually slowed to a gentle drizzle.

 

"Well, we have no power. What now," Mikey complained.

 

"Do you guys wanna go for a walk around town and see what's going on," I offered.

 

Say yes.

 

Please!

 

I wanna see the damage!

 

"Well, there's nothing else to do," Pete said as he rolled his eyes. Bob let out a sigh of relief as all of them adorned their hoods and exited the building.

 

_______________________________________

 

Almost the whole neighborhood was examining the damage all around town. Nothig too serious. A few lawns had branches of various shapes and sizes scattered about it. Others looked to be muddy. Some families obviously had flooded yards because they were wearing rain boots and running long hoses to the watery streets.

 

I lead the group of idiots down by the public library, where people were slowly milling around the building and many were leaving the area.

 

Gerard caught sight of a short girl with a backpack on her back and a coffee in her hand. She had her earbuds in and her ipod was tucked away in the pocket of her Nightmare Before Christmas sweatshirt. She wore a pair of black leggings and maroon colored combat boots. Her black, damaged, obviously over straightened hair was blowing in the wind and revealing the deep, dark purple underside of her hair.

 

I could have sworn I've seen her before, but I couldn't quite recall where. I never really pay attention to girls. My interest was always more focused on guys. There was something about them that just made more sense to me than girls.

 

She looked up from her feet to reveal her heavy winged eyeliner and pale, white skin.

 

Where have I seen her?

 

I decided it didn't matter and went back to walking around the damp town. I don't know about the other guys who were chatting away behind me, but I was people watching. You could learn a lot about a person from watching them. Their mannerisms and lifestyle. Their sexual orientation. Their heritage. It's actually quite shocking.

 

_______________________________________

The next day

 

The walk to school in the early morning haze went faster than usual. My earbuds blasted Smashing Pumpkins in my ears, filling my mind with the sensational sounds of the music.

 

I got to the school and today, I was alone, for sure. Nobody was lurking the halls searching for "the faggot." Good. I got to be completely alone in the calming silence of morning.

 

I unpacked my things into my locker and rushed to my first period science class. I couldn't be late again. Mr. Fisher would chew me out in front of the whole class. I didn't want to deal with the embarrassment. Nope. I mean… haven’t I dealt with enough embarrassment in my life? I think I have.


	5. The New Kid

I got to Mr. Fisher's class right on time. The students were sitting on the desks chatting about stupid things like their video games and the game on tv last night. I walked over to my seat and plopped my books on the smooth, tan surface. Just as the bell rang for class to start, Mr. Fisher rose from his swivel chair behind his desk and walked to the board. 

"Okay, class. Today we welcome a new face to our science class. I want you guys to make him feel as comfortable as possible in this building. He's going to come in this room soon, so when he comes remember to help him adjust by being welcoming and friendly."

New kid? Who?

Just a few minutes after Mr. Fisher had started the lesson for the day, a short boy with black, unruly hair walked nervously into the room. He looked around at all the students and then at Mr. Fisher. I saw that his hands were burried in the black sleeves of his Black Flag sweatshirt and his jeans had holes in the knees. He carried his books against his chest as if he were araid of losing them.

"Class," Mr. Fisher began, putting his lesson on pause. "This is our new student, Frank." 

Frank waved feverishly to she class. He looked like he was intimidated by the students. He was wuite small. They all probably towered over him like giants to an elf. 

The new student looked for a place to sit until his eyes fell on the empty desk beside me. He shuffled converse clad feet over and asked calmly. "May I sit?" I nodded the warmest nod that I could muster and attempet a friendly smile. He smiled back. "I'm Frank," he said, setting his books down underneath the desk.

"I'm Gerard. Where are you from?"

"Well," he began to speak in a soft but understandable whisper, seeing as Mr. Fisher was continuing with his lesson once again. "I was home schooled with my mom before. I don't get out that much, but I'm from around here."

I nodded. "I like your sweatshirt," I mumbled as Frank opened a notebook and pulled out a pen.

"Thanks. I like yours too."

"You have a great music taste," I said as I turned my attention back to my note taking. 

"Thanks. You seem pretty chill, Gerard. I like you."

I smiled a half hearted grin and continued to learn shit that was never going to ever come in handy in my life from the most boring, most evil teacher ever. 

He might as well be satan himself. I'll bet he eats puppies. 

Wait...

That's kind of far fetched.  
I don't think he eats puppies.

Maybe he just bites the heads off flowers.

______________________________________________________________________________

By the end of class I had an entire page in my notebook full of science notes, which was surrounded by doodles of comic book characters and random things that popped into my head while Mr. Fisher went on and on and on. I noticed Frank looking at my drawings.

"You're a good artist," he said approvingly, nodding his head and pursing his lips.

"Thanks," I said, not showing much emotion at all. I carried on with my day as normal, sipping on my warm coffee and soaking in the sweet, sweet caffeine.

Every Time I ran out of coffee I rushed to get more, just like every other day that I spend in this hell that they call school.

______________________________________________________________________________

Finally, it came time for the most tolerable part of the day. Art class. I slouched into my seat next to Dallon, who was chatting with the new guy, and waited for Mr. Quinn to begin the lesson for the day. The lights in the classroom were off, which was quite unusual. The light that was coming through the windows made it a bit less dark. Upon taking a look out the windows, I saw that it was raining. 

When doesn’t it rain around here?

Seriously, every time I look outside the sky has sprung some kind of leak.

I don’t have any kind of problem with the rain. I actually love rain. It’s calming and relaxing and just plain nice. 

“Today,” Mr. Quinn finally said, stopping all conversations between various students. Dallon and Frank both turned away from each other to face forward. They must have been having a really good conversation, because Frank was smiling happily. “We are going to be painting optical illusions. Does anyone know what an optical illusion is?”

Nobody raised their hands. 

Of course, I know what an optical illusion is. I think a better question is, am I going to raise my hand and answer the question? The answer is no. No I will not.

Of course, Mr Quinn called on me.

Thanks.

“Gerard. Can you explain an optical illusion to the class?”

I nodded my head earnestly. “An optical illusion is art that plays tricks on your eyes and your mind. You see one thing, but your eyes play tricks on you so that you see another.”

“Yes, Gerard. Thank you… Now does anyone know what makes the art so tricky?”

Once again, nobody raised their hands.

“Okay, I’ll just answer my own question. It depends on the contrasting colors. When doing op art, you want to use two opposite colors. For example,” he picked up some paints from his desk. “Purple and yellow,” he said, holding up purple paint and yellow paint. “Now, to get the patterns to make the op art, I have made you some examples and some stencils. Take whichever stencil you like and if you’re stuck, take a peek at one of the stencils. Get started!” He raised his arms as if he were starting some kind of race against time.

I picked out a swirl stencil that looked like something that would be used to hypnotize someone. Then I picked out some black and white paint.

“Gerard, No color again,” Mr. Fisher asked with his arms folded and a smirk on his face. 

I simply shook my head. 

He nodded me off to begin my work.

I’m sorry I’d rather do this in black and white. Isn’t art supposed to be your own? So if it’s my own I could pick whatever contrasting colors I want. These are them. End of story.

I plopped back into my seat and heard Dallon and Frank conversing about music as they both worked on their art.

I was extremely focused on my work. For the entire class period my eyes were mostly glued to my art. The smell of the acrylic paint filled my nose. I was quite fond of the smell. I don’t know if it was because I was just used to it of if it reminded me of something. I have no idea why, but that smell was just kind of comforting to me.

My work was finished three fourths of the way through the class period, so I decided that it was time to turn it in to Mr. Quinn. I walked up to to his desk in the front of the classroom and set it down on his desk.

“Done already?”

I nodded.

“Let me see it,” he picked it up and examined it contently. “This is spot on. It fits all the critique that I gave you and it’s nice and neat… Do you want to help out anyone in the room?” Mr. Quinn looked around the room, peeking at all the students artwork. “why don’t you go and help Frank out.”

I nodded and wandered over to the short man who was hunched over his work with a frustrated gleam in his eyes.

“Do you need any help,” I asked. I caught a glimpse of his artwork and figured it out. “You don’t need to go back and forth with the brush. You’re globbing the paint on. Here,” I took the brush that he was holding. He had a cup of green paint and a cup of red paint. I dipped the brush in the green paint, which matched his eyes, and gently brushed it onto the paper. “Like that.”

“So, smoothly?”

“Exactly.” I passed the brush back to him. “Your turn.” 

He brushed the paint on carefully and gently, as if he was afraid to mess up.

“Like that?” He stopped brushing to look up at me. I was pondering his brushstrokes. 

“yeah,” I murmured. 

“Thank you.” He smiled happily and thankfully up at me.

“No problem.”


End file.
